I refused to leave our room. In my mind he would walk through the door and smile at me before feeding his turtles and playing with our dogs. Yesung was never late, he prided himself on being on time yelling at me when I was late.
"Come home hyung," my silent plea loud in this empty room as Kkoming and Melo whimper at my feet. I was cold, always cold, always sick. I refuted to eat, to return to the others. I knew what would happen if I returned. They would see me weak and try to fix me. But I wanted to remain broken, at least being broken let me see him.
I ruffled the dogs fur before slipping from bed and heading to the bathroom. Once in the shower, I allowed my tears to fall as I cleaned myself. My hands felt foreign, my body use to his touch, not my own.
The razor in my hand shook as I debated slicing a new scar on my skin.
"Don't," the whisper was so soft, and in my state of mine, I had no clue who it belonged to. Me, or Jongwoon? I drop the razor, falling to my knees vaguely realizing my screams were echoing off the bathroom walls.
"Grab him," a voice cried as I whimpered. The hands that grabbed me, he face that showed in my swimming vision was his, Yesung, my phantom love.